George thought he could make the journey, especially with the mule.  And besides, there were some things he would dearly love to fetch back with him—­things that Bunny had long gone without, for the boys had seen that she was barefooted.

So it was arranged, to the delight of the good woman and the three young Stormways.  This had been a great event in the lives of the boy and two girls, and they never wearied of hanging about the young fellow who had known “mon’s daddy.”

The mule was borrowed from the obliging neighbor, and about nine in the morning they started for Morehead, George being mounted on the back of the animal, though he tried to insist upon their taking turns.

But at this both boys laughed in scorn.  Why, that five miles would only be a “flea bite,” as Thad declared, to them; and they really needed the exercise, after being cooped up so long aboard the little old Tramp,

Bunny saw them depart with considerable emotion.  Thad was afraid she would insist on kissing him again, but the good woman contented herself with squeezing his hands and telling him once more what a blessing he had brought to her poor little home.

George was interested in the tree that had contained such queer fruit, and as they halted under its branches for a brief spell the boys had to relate the story over again.

They had reached a point nearly two-thirds of the way to the river hamlet when they heard a great barking and baying of dogs.  The sound appeared to come from over beyond the big timber.

“Seeds like the sheriff he’s barking up the tree at last.  I jedge he’s got them coons separated from ther hook in the swamp, an’ if that’s so they ain’t agoin’ to ’scape him this time,” remarked George, as they stopped to listen.

The sounds grew fainter, however, showing that the chase must be leading away from the road they followed.

“I’m right glad of that,” remarked Thad, “for d’ye know, Maurice, I’d sure hate to see any more prisoners in the hands of that posse.”

“Reckon there wouldn’t be much danger o’ that,” remarked George, with a significant nod, which Maurice took to mean that if caught those black criminals might meet with a short shrift.

He could hardly believe that, however, since Sheriff Jerrold was a duly authorized officer of the law and sworn to see it carried out in the proper manner.

They arrived at the river before noon.

“There she is!” exclaimed Thad, eagerly pointing, and George saw that it was a little squatty shanty-boat he meant.

“Why, I hope you didn’t think anybody would be so mean as to steal our Tramp?” demanded Maurice, although he, too, experienced more or less lively satisfaction to once more set eyes on the clumsy craft that had so long been their home.

“Well, down in this country nobody can tell.  They say that if a man does anything wrong his first idea is to hook a boat, no matter what kind, the nearest he can lay hands on, and cut downstream.  But the sheriff is stirring things up just now, and bad men must lie low.  Anyhow, there’s our bully old Tramp, right side up with care.”